


and i can go anywhere i want (just not home)

by biochemprincess



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV)
Genre: Gen, in honour of folklore by taylor swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25504807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biochemprincess/pseuds/biochemprincess
Summary: "I'm proud to be his mother, just as Cassie is being yours."(one moment in time, between those lost in its stream.)
Relationships: Athan Cole & Hannah Jones
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	and i can go anywhere i want (just not home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleeplessmiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/gifts), [Eorlingas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eorlingas/gifts).



> i blame this on sarah, sam, and taylor swift. 
> 
> set after athan lost eliza, but before he visits cole and cassie.
> 
> (wrote this on my phone, all mistakes are mine.)

He's a wanderer, a traveler, a still lost boy trapped in the body of a too grown man. 

He trusts nobody, needs nobody, but himself and yet - yet he yearns for companionship, friendship, tangible proof of human connection. 

He's merely a footprint in the sand of the universe, continously washed away by the tides of time. 

He's mortal and immortal, everywhere and nowhere at once, free as a bird and stuck in a place. Untethered. 

He's all alone; Eliza's buried so deep even the grave diggers will give up before they reach her decaying body. 

Time has once again outsmarted him, the thief, the demon. But he will not let her win. 

-

"I'm sorry, is this seat taken?" Athan looks up from the book he pretends he's reading, the lines swimming together for the better part of an hour now. 

There's a young woman looking at him, with tired eyes and the dark circles to match them, and she's holding the possible culprit clutched tight to her chest. The baby's so small it can't be older than a few days, weeks maybe.

It's early 2010, just past New Year's Day and the coffee shop they're in is virtually empty of any other customers. Many tables are free, bigger ones too. 

Athan furrows his brows. He doesn't believe in coincidences. But there's something in the woman's look and the intensity with which she's taxing him, that has him shove out the other chair with his feet.

"Feel free," he says. 

"Thank you."

She sits down slowly, careful as to not disturb the sleeping baby in her arms. He closes his book and puts it on the table.

"What makes you seek me out?" Athan asks, once she looks comfortable. 

"Aren't we bold?"

Athan shakes his head. "No, need to prolong this any longer than it needs to be. Brevity is key."

"Is it not enough that I wish to hold a friendly conversation?" she asks. But there is a sense of knowledge in the features of her face, the lines around her eyes. 

"With a complete stranger?"

"Yes."

Athan blinks a few times, takes a sip of his hipster coffee (vanilla latte with a shot of blueberry) he would deny ever ordering even in the face of burning at the stake at the Salem witch trials. 

"Are you trying to assasinate me? Rob me? Looking for money? Somebody to hand off your child to?"

He tries to find a reason for him to fight her should she in fact be here to kill him, but comes up empty. Was there even a single motivation left in the hollow, miserable shell he called existence? 

The woman swallows hard. He can see the bit of colour on her cheeks drain away, leaving her sitting opposite him white as a sheet. 

He's got her.

"None of these reason, thank you."

Or not.

"I wanted to meet you, Athan. Properly, for once."

His name falling from somebody else's lips activates the fight-or-flight response deeply embedded in his instincts. 

"And why would that be?"

"Maybe I wanted to see what kind of man you are."

He thinks her words through, chews on them. Moments pass. Any surrounding noises take the backseat. 

"I'm an opportunist, who seeks nothing and no one. I'm a raging maniac, with the keys to destruction. Is that enough about me? 

"No," she says with determination. "I knoe you're more."

Athan raises an eyebrow and motions her to go on. 

"What about Eliza? What about Cassie and Cole?" 

He's a man in posession of a time machine and yet this damned stranger manages to grind time to a screeching halt. 

The woman doesn't stop. "I'm ahead of you, Athan. We will never meet like this again. As far as I'm aware this may be the last time I'll ever see you. But not for you. And I'll say in advance, I'm not sorry for shooting at you."

He'll take that as the only warning he'll get, should he ever see her again. 

"I do not even know your name."

"Hannah."

"Palindrome."

She nods. Athan keeps watching her. Her body unconciously rocks back and forth, constantly soothing the child in her arms in his sleep.

He's jealous of it, he admits in secret, knowing his mother's arms have never held him like this. There's not muscle memory of her touch imprinted in his body. 

Hannah holds onto the boy as if somebody may steal him away any second now.

"We've got something in common," Hannah says then, interrupting his thoughts. 

"Oh, please enlighten me with your wisdom of the future yet to come."

Hannah doesn't even acknowledge his snide remarks. "Both of us have no place to go. We're vagabonds in the endless desert of time. I've almost finished my journey, but there's still a chance for you. Don't let the anger feed off of you, don't let it win." 

"That's your advice?" Athan scoffs. "Why waste it on me?"

His words have always had blades sharp enough to cut diamonds, keeping distances as a protective measure. 

But Hannah sees through it, it appears. 

"It's not wasted. It matters. Even if it's just one person, it will be worth it. To save the one." 

"Who are you?" Athan bites out finally, the information a puzzle piece too important to delay any longer. 

"Do you know who invented time travelling? It was my mother, Katarina Jones. Her only chance, only choice, to save me. She sent men to their deaths until she found the one who could do it, to stop it all."

"Hannah Jones."

"The one and only."

Outside the windows the sun shines through the heavy clouds, painting the world in a bright white light. 

"Though these days my name's Marion."

Illumination comes fast, like a ton of bricks hitting at once. Athan has read the name before, has found traces of it, but never something tangible.

His gaze falls on the baby. 

"James," he mutters.

Hannah hums in agreement. 

The snake bites its own tail. 

"You're his mother," he spits out like venom. 

"Everyone has a mother, even you and him. It may be time to seek her out. Both your parents, actually. They may give you the answers to questions you cannot speak aloud."

It's solid advice, but defeat clouds her every word, a kind of resignation he knows well enough. This is the end of the line - for her. These are the last moments, days, she has with her son.

Because James has a father and - later - a brother, but never a mother. 

Not so unlike himself. 

Athan wants to ask her how she can sit here so calm and collected and accept the fate of time, how she's not screaming and crying, how she's not tearing down the tapestry of fabric holding together the universe.

But all he manages to utter is a quiet, "How?" 

"There's a time and place, for everything and everyone. And the hope of a better future, a kinder tomorrow. It's all I have left, and I'm clinging to it," Hannah explains gently. "I'm proud to be his mother, just as Cassie is being yours." 

It is too much and yet he feels as if he's been waiting his entire life to hear the exact order of words forming this sentence. 

"What do you want?" Athan asks, once more.

"Just one more minute of peace," Hannah answers in truth. Still, her kindness is remarkable to him. 

"I'm not a man known for peace."

"Try then, for me. Just one day. Maybe in another life."

Athan nods, despite himself. He can do that, for the woman younger than him, who's his grandmother holding his infant father. 

Hours pass and they sit in silence, safe for the crying of the child every now and then, a human connection. 

He'll cherish it, keeping it in his memory for however long he needs it. When they part it's with sadness, not animosity. 

Hannah presses a kiss to his cheek. "Good luck charm," she mumbles almost sheepishly. 

He takes it wordlessly, knowing there are no phrases of comfort he can offer for what she has to do. But he graps her upper arms and squeezes it gently, hoping she'll understand.

Athan watches as she walks down the dark and empty sidewalk away from him, James the guiding light in her arms. 

He has somewhere to go as well. 


End file.
